


The Cool Side of Satin

by lindentree



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 11:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindentree/pseuds/lindentree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>By hour two, Tyra was genuinely wondering whether she had lost her damn mind.</i> </p><p>An outtake from 1x22 "State."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cool Side of Satin

**Author's Note:**

> I always wondered how that drive home from the state finals in Dallas went for these two. Title and lyrics are from Neko Case's "Margaret vs. Pauline," which is a Tyra vs. Lyla song if ever there was one.

_Two girls ride the blue line,  
two girls walk down the same street.  
One left her sweater sittin' on the train,  
the other lost three fingers at the cannery;  
everything's so easy for Pauline._

***

Six hours of highway stretched between Dallas and Dillon. It was a long drive to spend in the company of someone who, up until very recently, Tyra had loathed with a vengeance: Lyla Garrity.

Lyla drove and Tyra navigated, or rather, since the way home was both straightforward and familiar, fumed at Lyla’s careful driving and the painfully awkward silence that had fallen between them once they exhausted the most basic small talk they could manage.

By hour two, Tyra was genuinely wondering whether she had lost her damn mind. What had possessed her to take Lyla up on her offer? Landry’s station wagon would have been fine, despite being crammed with Collettes, Matt Saracen’s sweet but addled grandma, and Landry himself, of course, who was in the habit of tuning the radio to whatever Christian rock station he could find. Not that she could blame him – there were times when she would have happily employed the sound of nails on a chalkboard to drown out the cacophony of Mindy and her mom arguing about the air conditioning.

When Lyla had stood before her in that empty hotel hallway and asked her if she wanted to drive back together, Tyra should have scoffed, said something cutting (maybe a remark about how Lyla’s entire pathetic existence – her blue and gold pom-poms and her whiter-than-white sneakers – fit into one reeking garbage can) and stalked off to update her mental Tyra Versus Lyla Sworn Enemies scoreboard with a victory in her favour.

Except there was something about the way Lyla offered, the cautious hope in her voice, and the way she stood there in her pink hoodie and messy-on-purpose ponytail, looking so unsure, sounding so unrehearsed, so _unGarrity_ , that made it impossible for Tyra to do anything except shrug her shoulders and mumble a deliberately indifferent, “Sure, why not?”

Around hour three, Tyra realised that this was going to be one long, agonizing road trip unless she and Lyla found something to talk about.

As they approached the outskirts of Abilene in Lyla’s somewhat suspect used Camry (Tyra was tempted to ask what had happened to the string of brand new Chrysler products Lyla used to drive courtesy of Garrity Motors, but ultimately bit her tongue,) Tyra announced that she needed to go to the bathroom and that she was hungry, too, and Lyla could come with her or roast in the car, but either way they were making a pit stop.

Without protest, Lyla pulled over at the next truck stop they encountered, which Tyra was pleased to note had a large, not entirely gross-looking diner attached. Tyra was out the door and headed toward the washrooms almost before the car was in park. When she had washed her hands, checked her hair, and walked back out into the air-conditioned bliss of the diner, she found that Lyla had followed her.

The other girl was seated in a booth with a window that faced her car, and she was staring blankly down at a plastic menu, her elbows resting wearily on the Formica tabletop.

Tyra slid into the seat across from her and placed her chin on the heel of one hand.

“Hungry, Garrity?” she asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Lyla replied vaguely, without looking up. She continued to frown down at the menu as though it had wronged her. Tyra raised an eyebrow. You’d think the girl was on some kind of death march or something, the way she was acting.

She was prevented from saying so by the arrival of their waitress, a pretty girl around their age whose nametag read Lucy, with a little smiley face drawn next to it in black felt pen.

“What can I get y’all this afternoon?” she asked, clicking the end of her pen with her thumb.

“Um, could I please have a Diet Coke, and... Do you have any salad-” Lyla began, startling when Tyra reached over and snatched the menu out of her hands.

“We’ll have two chocolate milkshakes, two cheeseburgers, and two fries, please and thank you,” Tyra rattled off, giving Lucy a winning smile as she handed her their menus.

“Sure thing,” Lucy replied, jotting their orders down and disappearing into the kitchen.

“That was rude,” Lyla said, her arms sliding off the table to cross over her chest, a shade of indignation colouring her tone.

“I said please and thank you,” Tyra replied drily. “And you were about to ask for a salad in a truck stop diner, so really you should be thanking me for saving you the embarrassment.”

Lyla glowered at her in stunned annoyance before looking glumly back down at the tabletop.

“So Garrity, what are you gonna do?” Tyra asked, after an awkward beat of silence. “Now that you’ve kissed the whole cheerleader gig goodbye, I mean.”

Lyla looked at her hands and shrugged, her mouth twisting as she thought. “I don’t know. What do girls do when they don’t have cheers to learn and pyramids to practice and cookies to bake and fundraisers to organize? All-star quarterback boyfriends to support?”

Tyra raised her eyebrows, about to mock the other girl and make a few tart suggestions, when Lyla glanced up at her. She was smiling ruefully, her warm brown eyes twinkling.

 _Holy shit_ , Tyra marvelled. _Lyla Garrity not only has a sense of humour, she has a sense of humour about herself._ “Well,” she said after a pause, “Dillon is kinda limited that way. Not a whole lot else to do except football. Kinda leaves us girls in the lurch, you know?”

“So I’m starting to realise,” Lyla replied, nodding. “What do you and Julie Taylor do for fun?”

“Huh?” 

“You and Julie Taylor – you’re friends, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tyra said slowly, staring at Lyla in confusion. “How did you know that?”

Now it was Lyla’s turn to look taken aback. “Oh – I just saw you hanging around at school, eating lunch together, stuff like that. You were on the same team in Powderpuff. I figured you were friends.”

“Sure,” Tyra said dubiously. Since when did Lyla take notice of anything except Jason Street, the Panthers, the baby Jesus, and herself, in that order? Since now, apparently.

Before she even realised what she was about to say, the words were tumbling their way rebelliously out of her mouth. “You should hang out with us sometime, it’d be fun.”

“Seriously?” Lyla asked, wary. Tyra prickled immediately.

“Jeez, Garrity. You don’t have to hang out with us if we’re repulsive to you or something.”

“No, no!” Lyla replied, alarmed. “I just... You’ve never invited me to do anything with you before, so I was just kind of, um... Confused, I guess.”

Tyra stared at her and wondered what the hell episode of _The Twilight Zone_ she had wandered into. She had never admitted it to anyone (and wasn’t about to now, either, despite her present case of verbal diarrhea where Garrity was concerned) but she had wanted Lyla Garrity to ask her to hang out since the first day of ninth grade when she saw Lyla in her perfectly white Keds, her perfectly white short shorts, and a tight Panthers t-shirt, surrounded by a swarm of the most popular girls in their grade, and thought, _I wonder what it’s like to_ be _her?_

Tyra was rescued by the appearance of Lucy, who arrived bearing their food and drinks.

They ate in silence, and aside from her eyes widening slightly at the size of the cheeseburger in front of her, Lyla offered no complaint about being robbed of her garden salad with fat-free dressing.

When they had finished and were left with only the dregs of their milkshakes to nurse, Tyra cleared her throat. “I meant what I said, you know.” Lyla looked up at her, confused. “I wasn’t pissed at you because of Tim. Not really.”

Lyla threw her a sceptical look. 

“Seriously!” Tyra insisted. “I was pissed at _him_ because of _you_ , but it wasn’t until the whole thing with my mom and your dad that I really got mad at you.”

Lyla stared at her for a long moment, her mouth hanging open and a dumbfounded expression on her face. 

“What?” Tyra asked, annoyed.

Lyla let out a strange little huff of laughter. “You’ve _always_ been pissed at me, Tyra. Way before any of this happened with Tim, Jason’s accident, all of it. You’ve hated me since like, junior high.”

“That’s not true, I barely knew who you were in junior high,” Tyra fibbed with an indignant sniff.

“Okay, since ninth grade, then. When we were dating Jason and Tim, I could never figure out what I did to make you hate me. I asked Tim once last summer and he said it was probably because I _breathed_.”

Tyra exhaled through her nose and made a mental note to smack Tim at the first opportunity. “I don’t hate you,” she grumbled.

“I thought maybe if I was extra nice to you, that would help, but it just made you meaner,” Lyla continued. “What did I do?”

Tyra eyed Lyla’s open, earnest face, and tried to decide how honest she should be. “You breathed,” she said finally.

“Oh,” Lyla replied softly, a frown creasing her brow. She pulled back as if Tyra had pinched her, and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Lyla, it’s not...” Tyra sighed, struggling to find the right words. “It wasn’t really anything you did or didn’t do. You just... You had everything I didn’t have, you know? The right family, the right house in the right neighbourhood, the right grades, the right boyfriend, the right reputation... All of it. Even with Tim and Jason, it was the three of you, not the four of us. They both loved you, and I always felt like I was on the outside, looking in. You were on the inside. And the worst part was that you were totally oblivious. It seemed so unfair, and I blamed you. I blamed you for everything.”

Lyla’s head dropped, and she stared down at the table for several beats. Finally, she cleared her throat and looked back up at Tyra. Her eyes were watery, and her chin trembled. “I don’t know if it makes a difference now, but I don’t think I’m on the inside anymore.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Anyway,” Tyra said brusquely, looking away, “it wasn’t about Tim, not really. I’m not that pathetic.”

“Me neither,” Lyla replied. She wrinkled her nose. “I _hope_ I’m not that pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

Lyla gave her a watery half-smile. “Really?”

“I mean, I think you’re a work in progress, but yeah. You’re not nearly as pathetic as you were a few months ago.”

“A work in progress,” Lyla repeated, nodding. “I’ll take it.”

They paid their bill and got back on the road, as the afternoon was wearing on and neither of them wanted to be stuck out on the highway after dark. They drove in silence for some time. Tyra was digesting the conversation that had taken place, and she guessed that Lyla probably was, too. 

“So, are you gonna go to the parade?” Tyra asked as they passed Sweetwater and the silence became too much for her once again.

Lyla shrugged. “I guess. I mean... I don’t really want to, but I’m sure my mom and my brother and sister will want to go, and of course my dad’s going, so I guess I’ll go. Are you gonna go?”

Tyra eyed her. “You know you don’t _have_ to go, right? As hard as it may be to believe, there’s no actual Dillon by-law that says _thou shalt attend every Panthers-related event until thou art in thy grave_. Believe me, I’ve checked.”

Lyla burst into a peal of surprised laughter. “You’re really funny, Tyra.” There was a pause, and when Lyla spoke again, her voice was tentative. “I bet you could get really good grades if you tried, you know. Not that you’re not trying, it’s just... You’re really smart, is what I’m saying. Smarter than me, anyway. In the ways that count.”

Tyra wrinkled her nose and stared out the window, embarrassed and flattered and annoyed all at once. She did not know what to say; a sarcastic dismissal was the first thing that came to mind. She chewed her bottom lip.

“We’ve all done stupid things when it comes to guys,” Tyra said finally. “Some of us repeatedly. That doesn’t mean you’re not smart.”

“I’m not too sure, but thanks,” Lyla replied.

“Anyway, my grades aren’t too bad,” Tyra said. “Or at least not as bad as they used to be. Apparently I’m Mrs. Taylor’s new pet project or something.”

“Mrs. Taylor’s the best, isn’t she?” Lyla asked. Her question was rhetorical, but Tyra thought of everything Mrs. Taylor had done for her over the past several weeks.

“Yeah,” Tyra replied. “She pretty much is, Garrity.”

They were quiet for a moment, and then Lyla spoke again. “Hey, Tyra?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t call me Garrity. It drives me crazy.”

Tyra grinned. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t.”

“Thanks.”

The sun sank down into the horizon as they drove over the county line into Carr County. Lyla tried to turn her high-beams on, only to discover that only one of them worked. They spent the rest of the ride silently watching the gravel shoulders for the yellow-green glow of deer and antelope eyes.

As they passed the blue and gold _WELCOME TO DILLON – HOME OF THE DILLON PANTHERS_ sign, Lyla turned without prompting onto the road which led out to Tyra’s place. Lyla pulled into the driveway and parked, letting the engine idle. The porch light was on, and Tyra could see the flickering light of the TV in her mother’s room through the venetian blinds.

“I didn’t think you knew where I lived,” Tyra said.

“I’m not totally oblivious, you know,” Lyla replied. “Remember last summer when there was that party way out in the middle of nowhere, near Big Spring, and we all went in Tim’s truck, and you guys had too much to drink and got into a big fight, so Jason had to drive and he dropped all of us off, and wouldn’t give Tim his truck back until he promised not to do that again? Jason and I helped you inside, and your mom pretended she thought my name was Lisa Grady.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tyra replied, wincing as she recalled the hangover she’d had the next day. She remembered having too much to drink at the party when she caught Tim making out with some college girl from Midland.

“It wasn’t the best night ever,” Lyla said.

“No, not really,” Tyra agreed, thinking about how much had changed since those days. It was mere months ago, but it felt like longer. “Listen, thanks for the ride. It was... Well, it was better than riding home with my mom and my sister and Landry and Matt Saracen’s grandma.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Tyra said, grabbing her overnight bag from the back seat and opening her door. “Night, Lyla.”

Lyla didn’t reply as Tyra climbed out of the car, closing the door with a slam. Tyra was up to the front steps and digging around for her keys when Lyla rolled down her window and leaned out.

“Hey, Tyra? If you wanted to come to my youth group sometime, we’d love to have you,” Lyla said.

Tyra stared at her, eyebrows raised, grasping for a polite way to refuse. Before she could, Lyla’s face broke out into a wide smile, and she rolled her eyes.

“Probably not, huh? It’s okay.” Lyla hesitated, the smile disappearing from her face. She cleared her throat. “But, um... Call me if you and Julie ever need a third wheel, okay?”

“I will,” Tyra said, nodding. “I guess I’ll see you at the parade.”

“Yeah, probably,” Lyla replied. She shrugged. “One step at a time, right?”

“One step at a time.”

Lyla put her car in reverse and pulled out of the driveway, her headlights glaring harshly in Tyra’s eyes for a brief moment as she backed onto the highway. The car’s motor groaned in protest, but cooperated as Lyla stepped on the gas and drove away.

Tyra stood on her front step, moths circling her head, watching the red glow of Lyla’s tail lights in the road dust as they receded into the distance. A coyote yipped nearby, followed by the sound of a train whistle’s wail.

It struck Tyra at once that some things were constant, but some things changed. It was impossible to know which would be which until you looked back, but some things changed. Change was possible.

It was possible.

_-end-_


End file.
